Napoleon, whatever his detractors may say, was neither overbearing
nor obstinate in his opinions. He was eager to obtain information,
and he wished to hear the opinions of all who were entitled to
hold any. Among the members of the Council, the wish to please him
sometimes superseded every other consideration; but when he perceived
this, he never failed to restore the discussion to its proper tone.
“Gentlemen,” he would say to his lieutenants, “I summoned you here,
not to bring you over to my opinion, but to let me hear your's.
Explain to me your views; and I shall see whether the plans which you
propose are better than my own.”
While we were at Boulogne, he gave a lesson of this kind to the
minister of the Marine. He had proposed some questions, to which M.
Decrès replied only by a string of compliments. Napoleon wrote to him
thus:—“I beg you will send me, in the course of to-morrow, a memorial
on the following question: _In the present state of affairs, what is
most proper to be done, should Admiral Villeneuve remain at Cadiz?_
Raise your mind to the importance of present circumstances, and the
situation in which France and England are placed. Send me no more
letters like that which you addressed to me yesterday; they can answer
no purpose. I have but one wish, and that is, to succeed; for which, I
pray God,” &c.
Two days before the battle of Austerlitz, a portion of the army was
stationed in an unfavourable position, and the general who occupied
it exaggerated its disadvantages. However, when the Council was
assembled, he not only admitted that the position was tenable, but he
even promised to defend it. “How is this, Marshal?” said the Grand
Duke of Berg. “What has become of the doubts you expressed but a
short while ago?—“What signifies flattering, when we have met for the
purpose of deliberating?” said Marshal Launes, in his turn. “We must
represent things in their true light to the Emperor; and leave him to
do what he may deem expedient.”—“You are right,” said Napoleon; “those
who wish to win my good graces must not deceive me.”
But though he was always ready to receive advice from those who
were qualified to give it; yet he could not endure remarks made by
individuals who might happen to be ignorant of the subject of which
they were speaking. Fesch was one day about to make some observations
on the Spanish war. He had scarcely uttered two words, when Napoleon,
leading him to a window, said, “Do you see that star?”—It was noon,
and the archbishop replied that he saw none. “Well,” said Napoleon,
“so long as I am the only one who perceives it, I will pursue my own
course, and will hear no reflections on my conduct.”
On his return from the Russian campaign, he was lamenting, with deep
emotion, the death of the many brave men, who had been sacrificed, not
by Cossack spears, but by the rigours of cold and hunger. A courtier,
who wished to throw in his word, said, with a very doleful air, “We
have, indeed, sustained a severe loss!”—“Yes,” replied Napoleon,
“Madame Barilli[1] is dead.”
[1] A celebrated opera singer.
He always sneered at folly; but he never shewed himself averse either
to pleasantry or frankness.
Madame Bachioci one day brought to the Tuileries her relation, M.
d'A * * * *. She retired after introducing him to the saloon of the
household, and he was left alone with me. This M. d'A * * * *, like
many of his countrymen, had a very unprepossessing countenance. I was
distrustful of him; but, nevertheless, I informed the Emperor he was
waiting, and he was introduced. He had doubtless something important
to communicate. Napoleon, by a motion of his hand, directed me to
return to the saloon. I pretended not to observe him, and I remained,
for I was apprehensive for his safety. He advanced towards me, and
said that they wished to be alone. I then withdrew, but I left the
door of the chamber partly open.
When Napoleon had dismissed M. d'A * * * *, he asked me why I had
been so reluctant to withdraw. “You know,” replied I, “that I am
not officious; but I must frankly confess that I do not like your
Corsicans.” He himself related this anecdote, which displeased some of
the individuals of his family. However, I am persuaded that he would
rather not have heard me speak of his countrymen in this way.
One evening, after the battle of Wagram, we were playing at
_vingt-et-un_. Napoleon was very fond of this game: he used to try
to deceive those he was playing with, and was much amused at the
tricks he played. He had a great quantity of gold spread out upon the
table before him. “Rapp,” said he, “are not the Germans very fond of
these little Napoleons?”—“Yes, Sire, they like them much better than
the great one.”—“That, I suppose,” said he, “is what you call German
frankness.”